


Even the Gentlest Tide

by lookninjas



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:12:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2005302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John knew that things were bound to change while he was gone.  He just thought it would be easier to adjust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even the Gentlest Tide

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place immediately after Person of Interest 3.13, “4C” and goes up to 3.15, “Last Call.” It was originally posted as "Sin Nombre (untitled)" on my tumblr, but when I decided to give it a proper posting here, I figured I should also give it a real title. (For the record, the title in question comes from "On and On and On" by Wilco).
> 
> Also, for those who might be interested, [this](http://lookninjas.tumblr.com/post/92553502236/friendship-harold-and-shaw) small snippet explains why Harold has to return home from Italy on such short notice, and also Shaw's comment to Reese about funerals.

Their Italian vacation lasts just long enough for Finch to show John where his tailor’s shop is located. They’re actually on the threshold when Finch’s phone rings.

He looks at John, obviously conflicted, and John sighs. So much for relaxing. 

"You should probably get that," he says.

Finch nods, stiffly, pulls his phone out of his pocket. Takes two steps away from John, and John does his best not to wince. He’s really not in a position to be insulted by anything Finch says or does, not right now.

"Miss Shaw?" There’s a pause, and Finch’s face falls, so much so that it’s instinct for John to close the distance, lay a hand on Finch’s shoulder. Finch glances at him, nervously, but doesn’t pull away. It’s a small mercy, but John will take it. "I… Of course, of course. No, I… I’ll come. Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I…" He takes a deep breath, shoulders slumping. "If you could. That would be very… Very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll… I’ll be there as soon as I can."

He hangs up, looks at John. There are tears in his eyes, and John knows better than to ask. Finch is a very private person, after all, and of all the kindnesses John would like to offer, there’s only one Finch would accept right now.

So John gives it to him. He squeezes Finch’s thin shoulder once, then removes his hand and steps back. “Go,” he says. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Finch nods. “Thank you,” he says, quietly. “I… Thank you.”

Then he’s hobbling back down the cobbled street, leaving John at the door to a tailor’s shop with more questions than answers.

The disconcerting thing is just how comfortably familiar the feeling’s gotten.

Really, he’s not sure how he ever thought he could leave. Water finds its level, and this is his.

Which means he’s going to need a new suit.

He sighs and pushes his way into the shop.

 

*

 

Shaw’s the one to pick him up from the airport; John can’t say he’s surprised. Shaw’s got the territorial instincts of a housecat, and John might not’ve been gone that long, but it’s obviously been long enough for Finch to start smelling like _hers_. It’s a relief, in its way. No matter what might happen to him, Shaw will look out for Finch. And she’s tough, determined. She’ll keep Harold safe a long time, even if forever has long since ceased to be an option. 

"So here’s the thing," Shaw says, as John slides into the car. "Carter’s funeral? Isn’t the only one Harold’s had to go to this month. And that’s all I’m telling you." Her eyes find his in the rearview mirror; her mouth is grim, unsmiling. "My point is, ease up on the guilt trips. He’s gone through enough."

She sounds like she’s expecting a fight; John’s not prepared to give her one. She’s right, he’s wrong. It’s familiar enough ground to start from. “That seems fair,” he says. “Anything else?”

"Harold reminded me," she says, carefully neutral, "that I ran from you guys more than once before I finally settled down. I didn’t remind him that I hadn’t exactly given him a chance to get attached to me before I left." She takes a deep breath, then finally turns and faces John square. "The next time you bolt, I’m coming after you. And I don’t have Harold’s guilt issues, or his aversion to violence. So don’t make me do anything he’ll regret."

"Again," he says. "That seems fair."

Shaw eyes him suspiciously for a moment before finally starting the car, glancing quickly at the side mirror before pulling away from the curb. “Just as long as we’re clear.”

John finally lets himself grin, watching the airport terminal sliding past him. Fusco was right; this really does feel like home. “Missed you too, Shaw.”

She rolls her eyes, but she doesn’t rearrange his face. Good enough for now. “Watch your step. _John_.” But the corner of her mouth is turned up a little. 

He doesn’t deserve it, but he’s not self-sacrificing enough to wipe the smile from her face, so he lets himself enjoy the moment. She’ll make him pay for it later, anyway. Shaw’s good like that.

 

*

 

He makes sure he’s the last one in to work for the first few days. Gives Shaw her time, her space, her territory. He even lets her take point on the Kelli Lin thing. Lets her play bodyguard, cleaning her gun ostentatiously behind Harold while John himself lurks in the shadows, out of sight. He lets her be the muscle. 

In exchange, she doesn’t rearrange his face for bringing up Carter when everything is settled and they’re having drinks at the safehouse.

Anyway, the look on Harold’s face is punishment enough. 

_Carter’s funeral isn’t the only one Harold’s had to go to this month._

 

*

 

"I found this in Arthur’s things," Finch is saying, and John immediately stops dead on the stairs and presses himself back against the wall. He shouldn’t do it; he should turn away, or at least keep heading up the stairs, burst in on them before he hears anything he shouldn’t. But there’s a part of him that’s still trying to figure out the mystery that is Finch, and sometimes it’s hard to control himself. "Thought it might interest you."

"That," Shaw says, and she actually sounds impressed, which is rare enough to keep John exactly where he is. "That is one hell of an anti-nuclear proliferation statement, Harold."

"And this," Finch adds. "That’s Arthur, on the left. And Nathan —"

Shaw knows about Nathan? And someone named Arthur. It was bound to happen eventually, but John can’t help but feel a little jealous all the same.

He really should go. 

He doesn’t, of course.

"— And that’s me, on the end."

"Hmmm." Shaw’s voice is unusually warm; and now John feels guilty as well as jealous. It’s not a good combination. "I think I can see a little of that gravitational pull Arthur mentioned."

"Oh, now." Finch sounds pleased; guilt is definitely winning out here. "That was an exaggeration, believe me, Arthur always —"

"No, no." Playful now, teasing. John should be grateful for this. He is, in a way. It’s just… "There’s definitely an attractive force there. I can see how —"

And John forces himself to stop listening, to turn and head down the stairs where their voices can’t follow him. He’ll walk around the block, give them their time, then come back in a little louder, let them know he’s coming. After everything, he owes them that much.

 

*

 

It takes him a week to realize that Shaw’s started bringing Finch his morning tea. 

It takes him three more days to realize that she’s bringing him something else. A small golden capsule, placed beside Harold’s cup every morning, and Harold always looks up at her when he sees it, sighs, grimaces slightly. Then Shaw raises her eyebrows, and Finch sighs and washes the pill down with his tea.

Two weeks, and Shaw sees him looking, shakes her head, and John goes back to studying the picture of their latest number, taped up to the wall. 

He’s not expecting any answers; Shaw’s as invested in privacy as the rest of them, after all; so it’s a surprise when she comes up behind him while he’s casing out the call center and says, “Fish oil.”

"It’s an interesting theory, Shaw," he says, confused, "but I’m not sure that the biggest threat to our Number is —"

"Clinical studies suggest that Omega 3 fatty acids may help improve patients’ ability to retain and recall memories as they age," Shaw explains, taking the monocular from John’s hands and pressing it to her own eye. She squints at the call center; John wonders if she’s looking for the Number or just making sure Finch is still in one piece. "Nothing conclusive yet, but. Anyway, it’s good for his joints." She turns to John and gives him a long look up and down. "You should consider it," she adds. "You’re not as young as you used to be, you know."

"I’ll keep that in mind," John says, and takes the monocular back. 

 

*

 

It’s not until Shaw slams him up against the wall, not until she growls, “There’s no dead in team,” at him that he realizes that Shaw isn’t just angry about what his absence did to _Harold_.

He won’t be able to let her keep him safe forever. If it comes down to a point where he has to choose between saving himself and saving Harold, saving her — well. He’ll do what he has to, and she can hate him for it later. But there’s no reason to assume that this is that moment.

He lets her protect him. It’s the least he can do.

 

*

 

After, Shaw doesn’t rush to Harold’s side. There’s a studied casualness to her walk, a forced hesitation for the sake of her pride. But there’s nothing casual or hesitant about the way she grabs Harold’s shoulders, holds him in place so she can look him up and down.

"I’m fine, Miss Shaw," he says. "I’m just fine."

"I know," she says.

She studies him a little longer, just in case.

John knows he’s in for it if she catches him smiling. But it’ll probably make her feel better to snap at him anyway, so he doesn’t bother hiding it.

It’s a little strange, the way things have shifted in his absence. But he can’t say he really regrets it.


End file.
